My Thirty Below 10. 12. 10

...Мне в году уходящем шарахнул тридцатник
Мой прогноз: минус тридцать, лёд, холод и мрак
В сердце - вьюга и мгла. Разум пуст. Пуст лопатник
Первый встречный - не друг, каждый следующий - враг

Так бреду сквозь пургу в полудреме кошмарной
Вместе с духами павших на этом пути
По дороге судьбы - мерзкой, глупой, бездарной
Хоть не знаю куда, продолжаю идти...

Always somber, cross and shirty,
Counting every day as two
I have passed the point of thirty
Without wish to think or do

What they mean among the eon -
Three decenaries of woe?
Just the drops in the Lethean
Stream through which fog I still row

Almost nothing to remember,
None to sing and none to toast
Gloom is my soul's pupal chamber
Even Love is but the ghost

I do need her though the bitter
Knowledge of our separate fate
Doom confuses my rhyme's metre
And my talent to narrate

In the different incarnations
I first praised then hated Norn
But my present day's creation's
Plotless. How can I go on?

And it's not another crises
Of the lyric-making art
It's my mind that realizes:
All the hopes are to depart

My own land's with horror smitten
And the thirty's not the age
'Tis the condemnation written
On my life book's final page

So, I'll keep this and get swizzled
In the madness uncontrolled
Then exhausted, sad and grizzled
I'll say farewell to the world


(Photo from Inet)